the snow. Then what appeared to be a great blot of ink showed against the white of the snow. And silence reigned!
Too stunned at what had befallen to move at first Mehitable stood motionless with horror for a moment. Then she turned and stumbled back through the snow, moaning as she ran.
"Charity, Charity, are you killed?"
At last a weak voice came wavering up to her.
"No, but I'm pretty nearly killed!"
Mehitable stopped upon the edge of the hole just in time, for the treacherous snow began at once to cave in beneath her weight. She stood there sobbing frantically.
"What shall I do! What shall I do!"
Then her common sense reasserted itself and some inner voice seemed to speak to her.
"Get help! Run for help!"
She leaned forward and tried to steady her tones, her heart torn by the faint, pitiful whimpers that came up to her from the cistern's depths.
"Art listening, Cherry? I am going for help! Keep up your courage—it will not take me long!"
"Oh, Hitty, hurry! It is so cold down here in the water. And—and—I told you the snow was cruel!"
"I will hurry!" promised Mehitable, her lips white with fear. She turned and ran toward the Briggs's dwelling.
It was a hard struggle and one that Mehitable did not soon forget, that plunging and rising and falling again and again through the heavy snow. But finally
